A Fate Worse Than Death
by TheEntireHistoryOfYou
Summary: When Jess' name is called for the 118th Hunger Games and Sam volunteers to take her place, Dean must make a quick decision; let his brother fight alone, or join him, knowing he might be responsible for his brother's demise. (Supernatural / Hunger Games AU; only SPN characters and HG plot.) Let the games begin!
1. Reaping

**(A/N: This is a Supernatural/Hunger Games AU, created just for fun! It might not have** _ **all**_ **the details correct for Supernatural, and it might not have** _ **all**_ **the details correct for The Hunger Games. I changed a few things either because I could remember how they actually went or to make the story more interesting. Hope you enjoy!)**

 **Chapter One: Reaping**

Dean held his breath as the capsule let out an airy noise, shutting tight. He already knew that there was no turning back, but the door actually shutting for the last time solidified it. He was trapped now, and the only way out was to kill or be killed. Dean wasn't sure he liked the sound of either one.

Suddenly, the capsule began to raise into the air, the roof above him opening. His heart started to race and he broke into a sweat as the outside world grew nearer, brighter by the second. Before he knew it, he was completely revealed, surrounded by the wilderness.

Around him was a wide field with a huge, metal cornucopia in the middle, surrounded by twenty-four other pads like the one Dean was now standing on. Slowly, each pad opened to produce another participant: some girls, some boys; some frightened, some excited to kill. Adrenaline was surging through him as he looked around the circle, wondering who he would end up killing, and who would end up killing him.

A loud beeping began, counting down the seconds until the games began. Dean's stomach was tossing and turning; however, the beeping faded away, leaving only ringing in his ears as he looked toward the middle of the ring. Digital numbers appeared and disappeared on the screen faster than he could've imagined.

Dean glanced to the side, looking for a familiar face. Panic momentarily set in as he couldn't find him, but just then, he locked eyes with the tall boy on the pad next to him. Sam.

His brother nodded solemnly, his hazel eyes glistening and fearful. Dean nodded back, hoping it would convince his brother that everything would be okay. It didn't seem to help.

The beeping grew louder, and Dean flicked his eyes back to the screen. Five seconds left. He swallowed hard, clenching his fists and preparing for action. Four. Three. Two. One.

The Hunger Games had begun.

"Dean? Are you in there?"

Dean blinked and shook his head to clear it, looking over to Sam, who was holding a large axe. He had been thinking and had completely lost focus.

"Yeah," he murmured, holding out his hand. Sam tossed the axe to him, and he caught it swiftly, swinging it over his shoulder. "Just thinking."

"About?" Sam asked, turning his back for a moment to hop out of the covered truck.

Dean followed, watching Sam sling a bag over his shoulder and pick up his own axe. "I don't know. This time of year is just hard for me."

Sam huffed, patting his brother's back. "It's hard for all of us."

Dean nodded, looking toward the earthen floor as Sam started the trek into the forest surrounding their homeland. The brothers lived in District 7, which specialized in lumber and paper. The men would go into the forest for a few hours to days at a time, cutting the trees and lugging them back. Women were in charge of managing paper production and planting new seedlings. Of course, all of this was monitored by peacekeepers, who seldom let them think freely. That's why the brothers enjoyed the wilderness; there were no rules, no judgement.

A while of walking brought them to a dense patch of trees, where they set to work. Sam slung down the bag as Dean gripped his axe, preparing to swing. It was only him and Sam in that part of the woods, as the men had spread out for the day.

"What about it," Sam began, raising his blade as well, "is hard for you?"

Dean shrugged before taking a swing with all his might. The wood splintered. "The reaping, I guess." He swung again with more might. "All the peacekeepers overflowing in our district." More bits flung from the tree. "Watching our people be taken away."

"I see where you're coming from," Sam sighed, starting to chop on the other side of the great oak. His hair was already soaked with sweat, and his flannel was rolled up on the sleeves. "Just try to think of it like pulling teeth. It hurts, but the pain doesn't last forever."

"Yeah," Dean snorted. "But you have to pull a tooth every year."

His brother hit the tree with one final blow, stepping back to admire this work. "So much for optimism," he panted, wiping his forehead with his forearm. "Now, what do ya say we mow this twig down?"

Dropping his axe to the side, Dean responded, "Let's get it over with."

Sam let his axe fall as well, then placing his hands on the upper half of the tree. They had cut is just enough so that it was holding itself up; barely. Dean did the same, and they pushed, grunting as the oak cracked and tilted forward before slamming onto the forest floor.

Sam brushed off his hands. "Easy enough."

Dean set to work again, cutting the wood into smaller chunks to lug back. Their method had been perfected over the course of a decade of work, and usually resulted in them getting home at a reasonable hour rather than past midnight. It was a method derived from their father, John. He had since passed, crushed to death by a unsteady tree. He had been weak and weary from losing his wife and the boys mother, Mary, only four years earlier. A fire had broken out in the paper mill, and she was the only casualty.

"So," Dean cleared his throat, trying to make conversation to help speed up the time. "What do you think we'll be having for dinner?"

The brothers lived together in their father's house, along with Sam's girlfriend, Jessica. Jessica worked in the paper mill, as Mary before her, but often made it home soon enough to prepare them a warm meal. The boys only other food throughout the day was what they found in the forest - some berries, occasionally a fish if they had the time to catch one - so dinners were especially enjoyable.

"Maybe potatoes," Sam guessed. "Bread?"

"You think she'd have time to make that?" Dean asked, still working on chopping.

"I hope," Sam sighed. "The honey bread is my favorite. She only makes it this time of year, when the bees are producing it."

"That's something to look forward to, then," Dean replied quietly.

Their conversations, no matter how dry, always made the work more bearable. Soon, they were loading Sam's bag with lumber and starting back to the covered truck. The sun was just setting in the sky, streaking the forest with reds, oranges, and yellows. Dean liked the sunsets, because it always meant he could go home.

Not too long after that, they had unloaded the truck, said their goodbyes to the other guys, and were headed into the village. The houses - which were more like huts - still had candles lit inside, which meant they weren't too late.

As they got closer, Sam slid out of his flannel, leaving only his sweat stained t shirt, and walked up the front steps. He didn't even have to knock, as Jessica opened the door and leapt into his arms.

Sam laughed, hugging her around the waist with one arm - his shirt was in his other hand - and lifting her into the house. Dean smiled weakly and followed, closing the door behind him.

Their father's home was one of the better ones; three rooms including the main one, only a few holes in the roof, good insulation. Maybe that was because there were three people living in it, someone always around to do some maintenance. Still, the ceiling was low - almost low enough to touch the top of Sam's head - and when it rained, water washed in from the floorboards. There were always rotting floor panels in at _least_ one place.

Dean could smell the food as he entered, kicking off his shoes. He could practically taste it in his mouth. The table was laid with a loaf of bread, a bowl of mixed berries, and three cooked salmons. Sam was already seated next to Jessica on their homemade stump chairs when Dean arrived at the table.

"How was work?" Sam asked Jessica, holding one of her hands on both of his, while Dean started to cut the salmon quietly. He didn't feel like he was third wheeling like he had when Jessica first moved in, as he had gotten used to being around them. He was Jessica's friend too.

"Nothing new. Just really dreary today," she replied, her sweet voice echoing off the walls of their small dining room. "I tell you, when I used to work for the group home, I always enjoyed the days before the reaping. None of the kids were dreary then."

Dean slid the cut fish onto Jessica's plate and started on a new one. What she was saying made sense. Forty four years ago, the rules were changed for the 74th Hunger Games. Back then, children between the ages 12 and 18 would be chosen to compete. However, the capitol saw it fit to get more action by changing the ages to between 20 and 28. A wider and older age range guaranteed more bloodshed. Not only that, but the tributes rule of one male and one female changed. There could be two males and two females if someone volunteered. It was rare in their district, but happened.

"Well, the woods wasn't much different either," Sam replied, nodding to Dean as his brother slid fish onto his plate as well. "We thankfully got away from the other guys for a while, but the young ones looked like they were in rough shape."

Dean chuckled to himself at Sam's comment, "young ones." Sam wasn't much older himself, being twenty-two. He had only been in the running for the games for two years, which meant his name was barely entered in the drawing. Dean, on the other hand had many more, being twenty-six. He had also taken up the role of buying tesserae - a small amount of grain and oil for the price of having one's name inserted more times for the Games - which gave him a substantial amount of slips. He was yet to be chosen, however.

Dean finally got to take a bite of fish, his mouth exploding with flavor as he set it in. He tried to suppress his sigh and eat slowly, which was a struggle, but he did his best. When he was finished, he realized he had ignored the rest of the conversation, and the others were standing up to head to bed. Jess packed away the leftovers and Sam cleaned the plates while Dean bolted the door and shut the shades.

The rest of the night was a blur as well, Dean heading to his bed while Sam and Jess headed to their room. Dean smiled as they went away, hand in hand, because they'd get some time alone for a while. It was stressful being in a relationship around the reaping, so Dean was glad he wasn't involved in one. He had never really been after girls since his parents' deaths, but he had to pride himself on being a ladies man earlier on.

Sleep didn't come that night. Dean stared at the ceiling and tried to close his eyes, but he couldn't bear the thought of what might happen the next day. Could he be chosen? Or even worse, could Sam?

When the sun rose, Dean was up and ready. He walked by himself in the crisp morning air to the river where he scrubbed himself the best he could, hoping to look presentable in front of all the cameras that would be there that day.

On his way home, he took the long way to get a look at the town square. On this day only, there was a huge stage with two glass bowls perched atop it, and more peacekeepers than Dean could count. He hurried home.

Sam and Jess had gotten up at that point, and informed Dean that they were headed to the river as well. When Jess had gone out the door, Dean wiggled his eyebrows at Sam, who scoffed and shoved his brother away. Dean laughed for the first time in a while.

It was all still a blur by the time they returned, everyone dressed and ready to go.

"You look beautiful, as always," Sam hummed, pulling Jess in by the waist for a kiss. They were usually never so open in public, so Dean was glad they weren't uncomfortable around him too.

Dean trailed behind the lovers as they made it to the square. As they entered and were checked off the list, Jess left to be at the back of the crowd with the other girls. They were arranged by gender and age; girls on the right and boys on the left, as well as youngest in the back and oldest in the front. Dean silently walked with Sam to the boys section, trying to think of what to say. He was still caught in the fog that obstructed his thoughts.

When they got to where Sam was supposed to stop, Dean turned to him and sighed. "After this, we should go to the market for lunch."

"Okay," Sam replied, an empty smile spreading onto his face. He turned away, and Dean kicked himself. He just wanted to show Sam how confident he was that they wouldn't be picked. At least he had tried.

Dean found his spot and settled into it, standing with the other twenty-six year olds. He could feel the hardened sadness that all of them carried, almost accepting if they were chosen. Dean was sure he wasn't going to be. There were too many people here for it to be him chosen. Too many people.

Suddenly, a red haired woman had taken the stage. Dean heard the whole crowd hush, so quiet, he could hear a pin drop.

"Hello, District 7, and welcome to the 118th Hunger Games Reaping Ceremony! I am Lady Bevell, replacing your previous escort who, sadly, has passed away." Dean already didn't like her. She was too fancy and her voice was too condescending. He crossed his arms. "Now, let us begin! Ladies first."

Dean felt himself almost shocked as she crossed the stage to the ladies bowl. Normally, their old escort would say a few words and coax them in. Lady Bevell seemed eager to get started.

Maybe the fog was keeping Dean from responding to what was happening, or maybe the world was moving in slow motion. Either way, he felt his hair stand on end as she reached in the bowl and stirred the names, grabbing a sheet.

Dean held his breath, as did everyone else in the crowd, as Lady Bevell read the name.

"Jessica Moore!"

Dean was frozen, trying to comprehend, when he heard a strangled wail. He winced, knowing who it was coming from. Sam.

Soon Jessica was heading up the steps to the stage, her body stiff and choking back her sobs. Dean hated himself for the thought - he loved Jess more than himself - but deep inside him, he was glad he and Sam were still okay; still unpicked. Not that Sam would ever be okay again.

That's when the worst imaginable thing happened. Dean wasn't sure if he had heard the words coming out right, but he knew who said them.

"I volunteer!"

Dean whipped his head around, starting to panic. Sam was running down the aisle and jumping onto the stage, wrapping Jess into a hug. She was trying to pushing him away, trying to tell him to not do it, but it was too late. He had officially taken her place.

Dean felt his heart rip in two as the peacekeepers pulled them away, Jess kicking and screaming while Sam tried to compose himself. From there on out, Sam was being watched by the country as a tribute. He had to start acting like one if he wanted sponsors or if he wanted to scare the other tributes...

The fog had lifted. Dean started breathing heavily and sweating, his whole body yelling at him to do something. What could he do? Sam had volunteered, and it was impossible for Dean to volunteer to take his place.. He wanted to cry, seeing his baby brother up there, standing stiff and - maybe to the audience - looking proud. Dean could see right through that.

"How sweet!" Lady Bevell sighed, already turned away from Sam and headed to the bowl. "Shall we pick from the boys now?"

Dean was hardly listening, staring at Sam. He could see how hard Sam was trying to keep his eyes ahead and not find comfort in Dean's.

Lady Bevell was rushing it along, a slip already in her hand. "It looks like... Ash Harvelle!"

Dean hated himself for what he did next.

"Wait!" He cried, shoving past the men his age and running to the stage. He could feel Sam's eyes locked on his, as if to shoot him down before he could reach it. "I volunteer as tribute!"

Dean clambered onto the stage and stood tall, staring at Lady Bevell while he avoided Sam's eyes.

"Oh?" The red haired woman looked to Sam and then to Dean. "Aren't you brothers?" She paused so quickly that Dean couldn't respond. "Well that's lovely! District 7, meet your tributes!"

She stepped back so Sam and Dean could shake hands, the crowd remaining silent. Normally, they were expected to clap, but in defiance, no one ever did. Dean stepped toward Sam, daring to look up at him.

Sam was flashing Dean a soft smile, showing the audience that he was thankful his brother had volunteered to fight by his side. That was what Dean wanted to do after all. But Sam's eyes were something only Dean could read. All he could see behind them was pure loathing, so intense Dean could barely look back at him.

 _What have I done?_


	2. Boarding the Train

**Chapter Two: Boarding the Train**

The door slammed behind him, sealing his fate as if the room were his tomb. It made everything official; Dean was going to be a tribute in the 118th Hunger Games, against his own brother. He tried to convince himself that it would be okay. Hopefully, someone would kill him before Sam had to do it. He scolded himself for the dark thought.

Dean pulled himself from the spot he was standing and made himself sit down on the couch that had been arranged in the rooms behind the stage. There were two; the one he was in, and the one across the hall that Sam was in. They were escorted to their separate rooms so they could say goodbye to their family before boarding the train to the capitol. Being alone made Dean's skin crawl, but at least Sam couldn't attack him just yet.

What was he going to say? "I wanted to protect you?" It wasn't going to cut it. What if Sam had to kill Dean? Or what if Sam had to witness Dean's death _firsthand_? He swallowed hard and buried his face in his hands, waiting. Waiting to be taken away.

It had been ten agonizing minutes before the door opened again. Dean looked up, expecting a Peacekeeper, ready to poke him with a gun and tell him to get moving. Instead, he was facing Jess, face wet with tears.

"Jess," he breathed, quickly standing as she ran into his arms. She began to sob, clutching the back of Dean's shirt so tightly that it was like she was trying to hold him in that room forever so he'd be unable to leave. Unable to go to the games. Dean set his face, smoothing down her hair. He wasn't going to cry. He wasn't going to let the Capitol have that over his head.

"This isn't fair," she whimpered, sucking in a deep breath.

Dean was still staring straight ahead, stone faced. "I'm going to protect him."

Jess pulled away, looking up at him. He slowly let his eyes fall on hers, but didn't change his expression. She desperately tried to see what he was feeling, but he wouldn't let in.

"I just saw him, Dean," she choked. "He looks scared. He's so scared..."

"Hey," he said to quiet her. When she kept talking, he repeated it, louder this time. "Hey! I promise i'm going to protect him. With my life." He let it set in so she would know _exactly_ what that meant. "This is goodbye."

He could tell Jess wanted to defy him, try to sway him from his plan, but she could see it in his eyes. He was going to keep his word, even if he had to kill himself in the end. And when she realized it, he could see she hated the idea. But she looked thankful. It was a worthy cause, and they both wanted the same thing. For Sam to be safe.

"I will be rooting for you," she eventually sighed.

Dean nodded at that. There was nothing left to say.

They hugged again, and only moments after they parted, the Peacekeepers had come to take Dean away. He watched Jess' blonde hair swaying behind her as she proudly marched from the room, and then turned his attention to the shiny new weapons that were turned his way.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," he sighed, holding up his hands as he walked toward them.

All he could think as they brought him to the train was, _This is my last day in District Seven._

There was no coming home.

(4 days, 22 hours)

When he got to the train, Sam was arriving too, with his peacekeepers at his side. Dean kept his eyes on the ground and quickly stepped inside, walking to the far side of the cabin. A few moments later, Sam had entered, and the doors were shutting with a hiss, leaving the peacekeepers behind.

Now that they were alone in the train compartment, Dean risked a glance back at his brother, and wished he never had. Perhaps the look he gave his brother provoked him, or maybe the fact that there weren't any peacekeepers on board to stop him. Either way, Dean was suddenly being charged and slammed against the wall.

"Idiot!" Sam shouted, holding Dean by his shirt, which he had balled in his fists. "Dick!" He pulled him forward and smashed him back again. Dean grabbed Sam's wrists but didn't fight back. "Son of a bitch!"

"Sammy! Let me explain!" Dean tried to say between each moment he was shoved back.

The fire in Sam's eyes was burning bright. "You volunteered? For Ash?"

Dean braced himself as he was slammed back again. "I volunteered to help you!"

"Help me?" Sam scoffed. "You set yourself up to go against me. One of us is going to be killed, if not both! Jess is alone because of you!"

"C'mon, Sammy, you know she can handle herself until you get home," Dean grunted, preparing for impact. Sam had stopped shaking him, however.

"Oh god," he choked. "I'm never going to see her again."

"You will, Sammy. I'm going to get you home." Dean tried to meet Sam's eyes, but he was looking away. "This sucks, I know. You don't want me to die, and I don't want you to die. But face it, it's better to have each other's backs than die back at home of starvation and grief." He took a deep breath. "We have to stick together."

Sam slowly let his eyes, which were now red and wet with tears, settle back on Dean. For a moment, he stared at his brother, as if waiting for permission to move. Dean didn't dare break the silence, either. In the blink of an eye, Sam was pulling Dean into a hug.

"I'm sorry," he warily spoke, trying to hold it together. "I lost it..."

"Hey, hey," Dean hugged him back. "Don't sweat it."

Sam sniffled. "You really think one of us can win this thing?"

Dean smiled softly. "I do. And that's my job. To watch out for my pain in the ass little brother."

Sam laughed and sniffed again. "Jerk."

"Bitch," Dean hummed back, letting his brother go just as the doors to another part of the train opened up.

Both boys turned to see who it was, and were shocked to see Lady Bevell, followed by an older man Dean knew as Bobby Singer.

"Boys," Lady Bevell cheered. "I'd like you to meet Robert Singer."

"Bobby," the man corrected. He extended his hand to Dean. "How goes it."

Dean took a minute to finally shake the man's hand. "Dean," he spoke quietly, composing himself. This man was the one and only Bobby Singer; the only victor of their district who was still alive.

This is what Dean wanted for Sam. Once Sam won, he would get a nice house and all the food he could eat. He would be a champion. He could provide for Jess, and he could help the next kids in line prepare for the games, as Bobby was likely here to do. It was the best Gift Dean could give to Sam.

Bobby shook Sam's hand as well, and made a comment about how he knew someone named Sam once.

Lady Bevell cut in before Bobby could tell that story. "If you don't already know, Rober- Ahem- Bobby will be teaching you everything there is to know about the games." _Called it_ , Dean thought. "We are headed to the capitol right now, but it's going to take some time. Your private rooms are down the hall, and behind me is the dining room. Help yourself to food or look around if you'd like."

Dean was about to ask why they were allowed so much freedom, when he remembered they were probably locked in the train. No escape. He sighed and smiled at Sam. "Sounds good."

"Wonderful. I'll be up front if anyone needs me," Lady Bevell said in monotone, and Dean took a mental note not to ask her for anything.

As she walked away, her heels clicking loudly throughout the train compartment, Bobby leaned in closer. "I'll try to help you boys the best I can. She might not be of much use," he motioned to Lady Bevell, "but we're going to try and make this as easy as possible for you both. I'm on your side."

Dean wanted to say something back, but he didn't know how to respond to Bobby's pledge, which had more undertones and meanings than he could contemplate. He simply nodded and turned to Sam.

"How about we have a look around?"

Sam glanced at Bobby before agreeing and backing away. Dean didn't look back as he followed Sam down the metallic smelling hall, still able to feel Bobby's eyes on his back. He was nervous, but not so much out of fear; he wanted to prove himself to be a worthy student for the victor, no matter the cost.

That is, until he would sacrifice himself for Sam.

(4 days, 16 hours)

"Easy now," Bobby chuckled as Dean shoved spoonful after spoonful of food into his mouth. He was starving after exploring the train cabins with Sam for a few hours, and there was plenty of food. The way he saw it, he could get plump now and have enough fat to burn during the games. Bobby didn't seem to agree. "You're going to make yourself sick!"

Dean stopped to look to Sam, who was doing the same thing. Without a word, Dean continued to eat. Besides, even if he _did_ get sick, it would be worth it for the look of horror of Lady Bevell's face. In her eyes, they were savages.

How could he not hold back though? There were three different kinds of mashed potatoes alone, not to mention the cooked carrots covered in honey, baked chicken with brown sugar sauce, cakes and pastries, fluffy bread, and much, much more. As Dean moved onto his third plate of buttery rice, Lady Bevell had only finished half of her first plate of salad. Dean vowed to never eat anything that wasn't as rich as this food ever again.

Bobby laughed again. "Boy, I'm tellin' you I did the same thing when I was in your place. It doesn't end well." Even though his voice was warning, Dean knew he meant it lightheartedly. Still, he took a break to digest and practiced listening to what the man had to say.

"What will we have to eat in the area?" Dean asked, kicking Sam under the table to get him to slow down a little.

Bobby, stroked his beard and leaned back, as if he were reliving the moment. "Whatever you can hunt. Berries, nuts, leaves. If you're lucky, a sponsor will send you a meal. Not a lot of options."

Dean sighed. "I'm not much of a hunter. I can fish and gather, but hunting... I don't even know how to track prey, let alone kill it."

Sam sat up straighter as if that was the weirdest thing Dean had ever said. Dean couldn't imagine why.

"That's where I come in," Bobby interjected. "At least, if you'll let me. I'll teach you everything there is to know." He flashed Dean a grin. "You seem like the type that can pick it up quick, so I might not even need to help you."

Dean smiled back, but didn't know if it was genuine, or something to make him feel better. After all, he would be slaughtered by the end of the week.

"Bobby, we don't really even know what happens between now and the games," Sam added, pushing his plate away. Dean could see that his brother was more than full. "Do we train at all? Are there simulators? Do we meet other tributes?"

"All in good time," Lady Bevell cut in, wiping the corners of her mouth. "For now, off to bed with you both. We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow, and I want you well rested." When none of them moved, she swatted Sam's arm. "Up up up!"

That got them moving. Bobby bid them goodnight and kept an eye out for the brothers as they wandered to their rooms, sealing the doors behind them. Even though they were separated by wall, Dean felt like he was in the same room as his brother, which made him feel much safer as he climbed into bed. The silk sheets and fuzzy pillows were the most comfortable things he had ever laid on, and as soon as his head hit the pillow, he was out.


	3. Parade

**Chapter Three: Parade**

(4 days, 2 hours)

Dean hated the hissing of the sliding train doors, for obvious reasons; the last time he heard that sound, he had _just_ been reaped and was attacked by Sam moments later. Now, that sound was his freedom. Kind of.

After a night of wonderful rest and a breakfast of filling foods, they were finally at the capitol. Thus, Dean was free from the train. But as he stepped off and was escorted forward by peacekeepers, he was reminded of his imprisonment.

Dean was glad to have Sam at his side. It made the car ride that they took next more bearable; the whole ordeal for that matter. He smiled softly at Sam, who smiled back, and then turned to gawk at the tallest and shiniest buildings he had ever seen. How did they afford such nice places to live and party, while everyone else in Panem lived in shacks? Dean didn't think it wasn't fair.

"Out you go," a peacekeeper commanded when they arrived at a gold-looking skyscraper, pushing Dean gently with his gun. He wanted to tell the guy that he could walk without being poked, but held his tongue. Sam had the same look of annoyance on his face.

Dean climbed out of the car and waited for Sam to catch up before following Lady Bevell into the massive building. He didn't want to leave Sam's side whatsoever during this whole process, so if that meant walking in the same step as him, Dean was willing to do it.

It didn't last very long, however, because as soon as they entered the building, Lady Bevell turned and announced, "Sam, you will be with Donna, and Dean, you'll be with Jody." She was splitting them up.

As peacekeepers moved to direct the brothers in opposite directions, Dean stuttered, "Whoa, wait, you can't just split us up!"

Lady Bevell rolled her eyes. "Dean, in a few hours there is going to be a parade. You know about the parade, do you not?" Before Dean could interrupt, she continued. "That parade is responsible for getting you sponsors to help you survive in the games. If you go into the parade looking like a savage, you will get no one's help. We're not splitting you up, we're separating you so you can get cleaned up. Now stop being a baby, you'll see your brother soon."

Fair enough. Dean glanced at Sam for a split second, finally cooperating and walking toward his changing room. The peacekeepers stayed at the door, thankfully, so Dean was able to walk in without fear of them watching him shower or something. Unfortunately, there was a woman in there waiting for him.

"Hey kid," she said, crossing her arms as Dean awkwardly looked around. It was a small room with a reclining chair, shower, and a bureau with strange tools on it. And the lady; she had pixie-short blackish gray hair and an aura of authority. "I'm Jody, and you must be Dean?"

Dean snapped his attention back to her and tried to act like an adult and not a scared little kid. "Yes."

Jodi smirked, probably because he was fidgeting. "So, should we get started?"

Thirty minutes later, Dean was the cleanest he had ever been. His face was smooth, his hair was trimmed, and his skin just felt... so new. Most of the process had hurt - being waxed and pulled and prodded - but Dean had also never been that... bare in front of anyone before. It was embarrassing for him, but Jody did it all the time. She didn't care at all. Just doing her job.

"All done! My, there really was a handsome guy under all that grime." She held up a mirror and let Dean look at himself. "Take a look."

Dean didn't know who he was looking at. This guy... He was actually attractive. He was clean. Dean took the mirror right out of Jody's hands and examined himself. A swell of confidence filled him, realizing that it was _indeed_ his own face. Wow.

"Everyone does that," Jody laughed, taking the mirror back. "Gets real caught up in how they look once they're clean. Dean, you look good. Leave it at that."

No one had ever said that to him before. His chest felt tight at the thought that he might actually be more than just some lumberjack.

"So what I'm planning for your parade outfit," Jody started again, hands on her hips and a wide smirk on her face. "It's going to play off of your district's lifestyle."

(3 days, 22 hours)

Dean emerged from the District 7 wing, Jody at his side and a few peacekeepers in front and behind them. He walked with his head held high, dressed in the costume Jody had picked out for him. It was much better than Dean had expected it to be.

He wore brown robes of different shades - some deep like the earth and some much lighter - and around his arms snaked leaves and vines that reminded him of home. There was also a cape that was long enough to touch the floor that swept behind him, also covered in artificial plant life and some blooming flowers. Atop his head was a crown of branches woven together, and to top it off, Jody had drawn branch-like patterns on Dean's face to draw out his freckles.

They passed a hallway, and from it - to Dean's surprise - emerged Sam, joining by his side as they headed for the loading bay. He greeted Dean with a small smile, and Dean realized they were matching. _Jody and Donna are smart_ , Dean found himself thinking, _to play off the brother aspect_. Now they would have to keep it up.

In a matter of minutes they had arrived in a huge hall. There were twelve horse-drawn carriages lined up in a circle underneath huge numbers (each under a number, one through twelve), all arranged to eventually go through the huge brass doors and into the arena where the capitol crowd was waiting. In a matter of time, they would be seen. If something went wrong, they might lose their chance to get good sponsors.

Sam laid his hand on Dean's shoulder, pulling him out of his thoughts. "Dean, look."

Dean had already looked. But this time, he could see what Sam was talking about. Around them, climbing into their carriages or mingling around were the other tributes. In a matter of days, they would all be killing one another in sport.

Sam pointed out the careers - the kids who had been trained all their lives to volunteer and fight in these games - and then immediately went to pet the horses on their carriage.

Dean was having a hard time taking it all in. There was a boy who looked like he might resemble his father when he was younger. There was an older tribute with long, scarlet hair. A tribute using sign language to communicate with her other district member, who was a shy, skinny kid with black hair. Even a younger looking kid who had sandy, side-swept hair and wide eyes that conveyed his curiosity and fear.

All of them, even himself, could be dead soon. It was all he could think. Sam seemed fine with climbing into the carriage, and even making conversation with another red-haired tribute, who seemed much more eccentric. But Dean couldn't think to do anything but stand tall and guard his emotions. He didn't know what Sam's angle was, but his was to guard himself at all costs.

Suddenly, a loud bell sounded, and the tributes began moving to their carriages. With what felt like great difficulty, Dean did too. Sam held out his hand and helped Dean into the back of their golden-rimmed cart.

"I saw you talking to the red-haired girl," Dean attempted at conversation as he fixed his cape. The longer he had it on, the more he didn't like it. "The one from District Three."

Sam followed in Dean's footsteps and arranged his cape as well. "Oh, you mean Charlie?" Dean looked to his brother and nodded, which brought him to notice that Sam's hair was the cleanest it had ever been, and didn't look too bad in a crown. "She spoke to me first actually. She's really friendly."

"Friendly," Dean uttered back, forcing Sam too recognize the irony in what he just said. "Until she cuts your heart out, right?"

Before Sam could argue, the Brass gates were squeaking open, and light flooded into the dark bay, followed by a loud roar of the crowd. Dean shivered as the carriage lurched forward, pulling them toward the light.

"This is it," Dean mumbled mostly to himself, though it caught Sam's attention. He cleared his throat and spoke louder. "This is our chance to make ourselves known to sponsors. It's incredibly important." He paused. "You aren't Sam from the forest when we get out there. You are Sam, volunteer tribute from District Seven. Do you get me?"

Sam shook his head. "Shouldn't we be ourselves? Win them with our natural charm?"

The chariot was closer to the brass gates now, and as the first three districts entered the stadium, the crowd was even louder.

Dean's tone became harsher and more rushed. "They don't care who we are, what we've done, or where we came from. They want to see us fight."

Sam didn't respond to him, rather, he looked straight ahead and squinted as more light flooded down onto him. Dean took that as his cue to do the same. Sure, he felt bad for not making easier for Sam to take, but he would have to be hardened if he wanted to survive. Dean didn't feel bad for that.

He closed his eyes, letting the roar of the crowd shut off any thought he had that they could escape, or make it home together, or even make it a week in the arena. Nothing mattered now except holding his head high and smiling to the crowd. It took some effort, but Dean was able to convince himself that he loved these people - _his_ people - and that he wanted their affection.

Suddenly, they were out in the open, as a loud voice shouted over the loudspeakers: "The Winchester Brothers, from District Seven!"

Dean's eyes snapped open. It was nothing like he had ever experienced; more people, more noise, more color than he had ever seen or heard at once. And they were cheering for him! Something about that made him grin even wider, and raise a hand to wave. This made them yell even more.

In that moment, he had finally found an angle. Before, his main goal was to keep himself closed off and feared, so that no one would dare mess with his brother. Now, the crowd and the sheer noise made him realize that he had charm, and that he wanted to use it. He wanted them to love him, no matter how much he despised them deep down. To him, that would be truly winning.

So he smiled wider, and waved, and even bowed once or twice. Sam followed suit, but it was clear he wanted Dean to have the stage. Dean didn't mind. They were showered in roses, and even when they were done making their lap, people were still cheering for him. He relished in it.

"And those," the voice over loudspeaker eventually announced, "are our tributes!"

There was another wave of cheering as the chariots made their way back into the loading bay, and when the light finally faded behind him, Dean felt strange. Why had he enjoyed that so much? Was it wrong? He was so lost in thought that Sam had to grab his arm to get him out of the chariot.

"Come on, dude," Sam half scolded, half laughed as Dean blinked out of his thoughts and climbed down.

Dean shoved Sam's shoulder. "Come on, don't tell me you didn't enjoy that."

Sam initially shook his head, but after a minute of Dean smirking at him, he finally gave in. "Okay. Okay! I did." He paused and sighed. "It makes me forget about what we have to do in a few days."

Dean's smile faded at that. After a moment, he spoke again. "Let's get changed out of this crap. It's getting a little itchy up here." He pulled off his crown and shook his head to get the branches out.

That made Sam smile again.

The brothers made their way down the wing to the District Seven hallway, laughing and joking about how stupid the other looked in the parade, Dean's crown crumbling and leaving a trail of branches behind them.

At the end of the day, Dean had taken a hot shower, eaten a big meal - which were rare occurrences - and fallen asleep on a couch in the room they were given to stay before the games. That wasn't to say he hadn't adjusted the temperature of the room, turned on the fountain, or jumped off the upper balcony onto the sofas a couple of times, because that is important to do in a new place. But for the first time, he went to sleep full and happy.

He didn't feel safe, or like he might actually live to see next week, but he was content. Sam was safe and smiling, and that was all that mattered.

At least, he was content until he felt a sharp pain in his foot, and woke to blazing and consuming flames.


End file.
